


49 Days

by dibbles



Category: Free!
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Angst, Friendship, Ghosts, M/M, Moving On, Original Character Death(s), Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 08:07:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6649408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dibbles/pseuds/dibbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Makoto drowning leaves him dead in every sense of the word, leaves Haru dead on the inside, leaves Nagisa wondering why he isn’t dead instead, and leaves Rei wishing he was dead. Rin, whose past supernatural experience helps him realize what has to be done, must now work with Makoto to help his true soulmate, Haruka, move on. </p><p>Unfortunately, the only way to do it is to make him fall in love with Rin. And the catch? He has 49 days to make it happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	49 Days

The rhythmic _wop-wop-wop_ of the helicopter becomes more aggressive, more terrifying, as it lowers onto the beach. It fans violent winds every which way and Haruka stretches an arm over his face, shielding himself and Makoto from gusts of sand. His exposed skin stings as the miniscule grains pelt him.

_How could things have gone so wrong?_

He hears Rei dry heaving over the drill of the helicopter blades. The desperate, throaty sobs make his own stomach tighten with nausea. _Rei must assume he’s dead already,_ Haruka thinks, _he’s making himself sick._ He doesn’t feel sick himself, yet, and he’s too calm, too _numb,_ when he glances down at Makoto’s colorless face. _When had he last taken a breath?_ He’s about to check for a pulse when Nagisa screams at him.

 _“Haru!”_ Nagisa sounds afraid, and now is no time for an honorific. “Get out of the way! The medics are right there!”

Time slows down then, as though they’re all moving underwater. Haruka is pulled from his best friend, rough, hasty—there’s no time to waste. He’s dragged over to where Nagisa stands, white knuckles gripping Rei’s shoulder, willing his own best friend to pull himself together despite barely being able to stand on his own. Rei reaches out as the paramedic turns away.

“I-is Makoto-senpai going to be alright?” He chokes on his own question and the words are lost in the chaos, sliced right through by the helicopter blades. Of course they couldn’t get a response to such a question now. Makoto’s limp, pale figure is lifted on a stretcher, and that’s almost answer enough. Rei sinks to the ground.

“This is all my fault.”

There is a moment, presumably his final one, where Makoto’s body has never felt heavier. It’s as though his soul, trying to escape death’s turmoil, is being caged in by his cursed flesh and bones. _Pressure._ There’s so much pressure. In his lungs. Head. Pressure in his head and chest. Restricting his breath. He realizes he’s drowning. _He knew this is how he would go._

Makoto’s limbs feel like lead as he tries to claw his way back, tries to resurface. His efforts prove to be futile, almost pathetic against the crushing weight. He can’t move. Is he still in the ocean? Why had he jumped in, anyways? Haru is going to kill him. _Haru. Haru is going to be so worried. They’re all going to be so worried…Wait…_

Then the moment is over. The pressure is lifted, his body gives up. The moment he dies, Makoto’s spirit has never felt lighter. For a few blissful moments, he focuses only on the cathartic feeling of death, pleasantly unaware of the gravity of this situation. But oh, the initial feeling is most _definitely_ sweet, sweet elation.

But then Makoto starts to drift away from his body, and a great fear of the unknown strikes him. _Where is he going?_ He reaches out for himself, tries to undo what he’s done. He can’t shake the feeling he’s made an unfixable mistake, and soon his human form is completely out of his grasp, devoid of any color, any trace of being alive.

Makoto doesn’t want to die. And he didn’t know what he was doing when he handed himself over to death, unable to take the _pressure_ anymore, unable to take the _pain_ anymore. He just wanted to ease his suffering, not—not _this._ But the exchange was made; his life for this relief. This momentary relief that shatters once the ties between soul and body have been permanently cut.

“N-no, please,” Makoto watches Haruka being dragged away from his body, watches Rei make himself sick, watches Nagisa struggle to keep himself together. Gou and Miho come running to the scene and their sobs rattle Makoto to the very core. _Is this hell?_ He thinks, paralyzed. _What have I done? What have I_ done?

And then, in what Makoto believe is the most devastating moment of his life (can he even say that?) his body is taken away, never to be occupied again. Makoto screams, sobs soundlessly with his friends, over his own death. Haruka is the only one who doesn’t cry, and it hits Makoto that his best friend doesn’t realize his death has already occurred. It hits Makoto that Haruka is putting all of his faith in him making it through this alive.

And _that,_ he realizes, is the absolute worst, most crushing moment in his existence.

~~~

Makoto comes back into consciousness—no, that’s not the right word— _awareness_ , after what he figures is at _least_ a day, because the sun is out again and the ocean has calmed from the stormy pits that ended his life to a gentle, welcoming tide that wouldn’t hurt a fly.

Memories of his death flood back to him, awakening a sharp pain where his heart used to be. He grimaces and clutches his chest, gasping when the contact is made. His chest feels so _hollow._ Makoto’s breath quickens as he looks down to examine his torso, his arms, his legs. It’s not his true body, that’s for certain. He’s not even completely tangible. _So, I’m a ghost,_ Makoto thinks, processing that just about as well as anyone could. _I was hoping I’d just go to Heaven—or something like that._

But then Makoto becomes more hung up on what he’s wearing, which are his navy swim trunks and a t-shirt he got at a seafood festival that says “I Got Weird On Iwatobi Beach”. It’s accompanied by a clipart photo of a lobster with sunglasses, and, well, Makoto just _had_ to die in that, didn’t he?

But before he can get _too_ upset over that (will anyone even be able to see him?), he catches sight of a thick, black bracelet wrapped around his right wrist. At a second glance, Makoto realizes it’s not a bracelet, but in fact a watch. It’s all black, save for the center circle that, on any ordinary watch, would project the hour and minute. This watch, which Makoto is certain he never owned, only reads “49 days” in a bright, green font.

“What the..?” Makoto tries to take the watch off, but it has no buckle and doesn’t budge when he tries to slide it up or down his arm. It’s stuck on his wrist. It’s supposed to be on his wrist. _Okay, then._

The words ‘49 days’, paired with no explanation, seems ominous. It sounds like a deadline to Makoto, a concept he never quite got down while he was alive. 49 days until what? Makoto scratches his head; if this is a riddle, he might as well throw in the towel now, because he’s never been the sharpest knife in the drawer. Haru’s good at figuring things out, so maybe—

Makoto is met with another stab at his hollow chest. _Haru._ His whole body aches, worse than when he was dying, and regret pulses through him like human blood used to. He is a being made entirely of his own remorse, his own raw sorrow for leaving someone he loves. _He has to get back to him. He has to apologize. He has to apologize to everyone._

He drags his feet along the beach for a stretch, shoulders slumped. What is Makoto to do? Is he eternally damned to haunt the beach he died on? But the watch—49 days—that’s not on his wrist for no reason. There’s a task here, but Makoto knows he can’t figure it out on his own.

Maybe the answer will just, like, _divinely come to him._ He stares at the glowing letters some more before he sighs, heavy, and sets himself down on the warm sand. He rakes his fingers through the grains, taking in the sensations that he can still feel in his ethereal form. He can even pick up handfuls of it and drizzle it on his leg, can even burrow his toes under it until they hit the damp, cold sand. For a moment, Makoto is content.

A woman walks by him with her dog, a small grey terrier he just has to pet, so he decides to test something.   

“Your dog is adorable!” Makoto says when she’s in close enough proximity. He stands up, smiling, but the woman pays no attention to him. Makoto knows she’s not simply ignoring him because her face is too undisturbed, too content to be prude, but he doesn’t want to give up just yet.

“Excuse me, Miss, could I pat your dog? He’s awfully cute,” Makoto tries, but the woman walks past him, unaware anyone tried to talk to her.

He sits back down, feeling sick.

~~~

The sun glides across the sky, hot and slow, and Makoto cries the entire afternoon. After removing any doubt that he is, in fact, utterly invisible to the world, he plops down some 20 yards from shore, pulls his knees to his chest and falls apart. He’s never felt more lost, more alone, and he wonders what all his friends and family are doing. How long ago had he died, anyway? Makoto wonders, in a spike of fear, if he’s been dead for years and they’ve all moved on already.

 _Nonsense,_ he thinks. Surely he hasn’t been dead for more than a week, right? There’s no way to tell.

He sees a familiar figure running down the beach, fast, strong, almost about to pass the spot where he weeps. Makoto doesn’t even have to squint to make out the familiar head of red hair, tied into a messy ponytail with a few unhinged strands that frame his sharp face.

_Rin._

Makoto can’t do this. He can’t see someone he cares about so much; not when they can’t see him back. It’s unfair. It’s _so_ unfair, and he tries to think about the worst thing he’d done in his life, anything to explain why he deserves _this._ Because if this is what _he_ has to deal with after death, he doesn’t want to imagine what fate has in store for, like, Nagisa.  

Rin’s running slows down to an easy jog when he spots something near—presumably directly behind, because Makoto _swears_ he’s looking right into his eyes—where he sits. Rin cocks his head and begins a slow trek towards him, careful and hesitant. Makoto’s breath hitches as he takes in the expression on Rin’s face: recognition. Confusion, apprehension, and utter _recognition._ He can see him. _He can see him._

Makoto stands up, trembling. He rubs his eyes, because this _has_ to be a joke, and when he’s finally somewhat composed, Rin is barely 5 feet away from him.

“Holy sh—what the _fuck? Makoto?!”_ Rin’s jaw is slack, ruby eyes about to bulge out of their sockets.

“You can see me?” He asks, his voice small.

It’s a miracle Rin’s eyeballs are still intact. “I can— _yes._ And you look _terrified._ You know, _I’m_ the one who’s seeing a ghost here, not you.”

Makoto thinks about that for a moment—it was a pretty funny remark, actually, but before he can react Rin is hugging him, arms wrapped around his neck and broad shoulders shaking.

Makoto pauses, remembers what it feels like to be this close to another human. Remembers what it’s like to touch. He returns the embrace, arms around Rin’s back, and tries to comfort him while his own eyes begin to water. He lets his friend fall apart into the crook of his neck.

“How— _why_ —everyone i-is—so lost, M-Makoto—” Rin’s breathing is hitched, each word interrupted with a hiccup, and if he hugs Makoto any tighter he’s afraid he’ll disappear.

But this is the most alive Makoto’s felt since, well, _actually being alive,_ so he lets himself sob with his friend and choke out useless apologies, words that could never make things right. He can feel everything; Rin’s arms clinging to him, warm tears sliding down his face, the zipper of his Samezuka jacket pressed into his jaw. Makoto wonders what he _is_ in that moment, if he’s not alive.

Rin lets go of him, eyes puffy and cheeks streaked with tears.

“God,” Rin says, using a sleeve to wipe his face. He laughs, humorless, and Makoto is suddenly hyperaware of the fact that he’s a ghost.

“You…can see me,” he says again. Rin gives him a look.

“Uh, no shit, I can see—”

“No one else could. All day, people have just walked by me as though I don’t exist, even when I try to talk to them. You’re the only one who’s been able to see me, Rin.”

The fact hangs heavy in the air for a moment. So he’s Makoto’s only tie to the living world, huh? Rin Matsuoka. He shakes his head and looks Makoto up and down, takes in the details of his ethereal form. Uninterestingly enough, his appearance is more or less the exact same. Rin’s about to comment on his shirt when his eyes land on the thick, black watch strapped around Makoto’s wrist.

He remembers everything and his heart aches.

“So you’re fate was already tied with someone’s when you died.”

“My fate was—what?”

Rin gestures to his wrist. “Your watch. You have no idea what it means, do you?”

 _“You_ do?” Makoto’s expression becomes intrigued, excited at the prospect of an answer to his questions.

Rin frowns, casts his eyes downwards so he doesn’t have to see the hopeful glint in Makoto’s. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“W-wait, why—”

“Listen, Makoto, you’re not gonna like what I have to say. I just feel like I have to tell you that up front, because I won’t enjoy this, either.”

“Okay,” his voice wavers. He’s frightened, all of the sudden, and Rin’s downcast eyes aren’t providing any comfort. But he begins without any further preparation, so Makoto has no choice but to listen.

“What’s around your wrist is called a Fate Watch. You’re wearing it because you died before you were supposed to, while your fate was entangled with someone else’s. Like, your soulmate.”

“My…my _soulmate….”_

“Yeah,” Rin says, still staring at the ground, drawing arcs in the sand with the tip of his Nike running shoes. “You left them too early. You hurt them beyond what can be healed by the passage of time.”

 _You hurt them. Beyond natural healing._ Makoto knows, without a doubt in his mind, who he hurt like this. His mind tortures him with the image of sad blue eyes, darkened from sorrow, tired from mourning. Adorable, full cheeks now hollow and pale. Soft black hair that hasn’t been washed enough lately.

An image of Haruka, too hurt to take care of himself anymore.

“Haru…” A fat tear springs from his eye, travels down his face, and Rin looks up when it wets the sand by his feet.

“H-hey, yeah, I know…” His voice softens and he stands there as Makoto cries, a comforting presence that doesn’t know how to help.

“How do I fix this?” Makoto asks, desperate. He’ll do anything to make this right, as right as it can be. He’s prepared to go to the bottom of the ocean all over again, die a million more deaths, if that’s what it takes.

“That’s…that’s what I need to explain,” Rin looks pained, like a doctor who’s about to tell a family he couldn’t save a loved one. Makoto swallows.

“I’m the only one who can see you, right? We’ve established that.”

He nods.

“I don’t know how to say this, Makoto,” Rin admits, because it’s all so paranormal and _odd,_ but he forces the words out because his friend needs— _has_ —to know everything. “That means…that means _my_ fate is tied to Haru’s, now.”

Makoto flinches. Out of everything he’d prepared himself to hear—which mostly involved Rin damning him to Hell for what he’d done or even going on some supernatural quest to save Haru’s soul, which he now realizes sounds inappropriately silly—none of it involved Haruka’s fate being tied to someone else’s; someone besides himself.

“How do you know all of this?” Makoto asks, because he’s not ready to address all that just yet.

A beat of silence follows and Rin’s lips are pressed in a thin line, reluctant to speak.

“My, um…my dad,” he says, finally, and continues before Makoto has a chance to apologize.

“Gou was the one who saw him. Not me. He saw her because was the only one who could ensure my mom could be happy without him. She became my mom’s support system, showed her that she could live on even when dad couldn’t. My father…he could pass over in peace, after that.”

Makoto tries to process this without having a mental malfunction. He takes deep breaths, in through his nose and out through his mouth, trying to focus on what all of this _means_. Because his feelings on the situation don’t really matter, at this point. He’s just dead.

“So your dad,” he says, piecing together the puzzle, “wasn’t…wasn’t supposed—”

“Died too early.”

“I’m…I’m so sorry—”

“I didn’t know about all that ‘til way later, though. At first I didn’t even believe Gou, because really, why the hell would I? It sounded like complete bull. But I guess it’s a good thing I at least _listened_ to what she had to say, huh…” He trails off, talking mainly to himself, just as lost as Makoto.

They stand together for a few moments, the ghost and the human. The dead and the living. Bound, somehow, by another’s fate.

But then Makoto can’t ward off the curiosity any longer. “So, are you—like—are _you_ Haru’s soulmate, now?”

Rin turns red enough to match his hair, sad expression changing to an embarrassed one. “I don’t know _how_ we’re bound, idiot! It could be a lot of different things!”

He owes Makoto a better explanation than that, though, so he forces himself to a calmer state. “Like, take Gou and my mom. They’re not… _soulmates,_ obviously, _”_ Rin makes a face at that, to Makoto’s amusement. “She just became my mom’s best friend, in a way. Her rock.”

Makoto’s initial feeling is something along the lines of, _wait, that’s actually really sweet._  But then he realizes what this means for Rin and Haruka’s relationship, and the warmth in his stomach hardens into a cold lump of jealousy. And, honestly, why _wouldn’t_ he be jealous? He’s dead, but he’s still _human_ —well, he can’t quite say that—he’s a _ghost_ of a human, at least.

No matter what he is, Makoto _isn’t_ a Divine Being immune to emotion.  

They were going to be intimate, Rin and Haruka. They were _destined_ to be. On an emotional level, on a—God, help him— _physical_ level, if that’s what their bond entails. Makoto feels like he’s drowning all over again, caught between the currents of his own jealousy and wanting what’s best for Haruka.

Rin sees the turmoil written all over his face and sighs.

“Look, I know this isn’t easy for you. But it’s not gonna be a walk in the park for me, either. We have a deadline to meet.”

That catches Makoto’s attention. “What do you mean?”

“Your watch. It has a certain amount of days written on it, right?”

Makoto holds his wrist up, puts the neon letters on display. “49 days.”

“That’s all the time we have.”

“To do what?” Makoto feels panicked again and he sure _hopes_ ghosts can sleep, because the emotional roller coaster this conversation put him through has him exhausted.

And the task is just about as daunting as he could have expected. Rin looks him straight in the eyes, unfaltering.

“To fix him. We have 49 days to make sure Haru can be happy without you.”

~~~

Haruka stirs, nuzzles his nose under the soft blue comforter as he wakes up. The sunlight that shines through the window and onto his face encourages him to roll over and shut his eyes tighter. He decides he won’t go to school today, as if it was something he even considered in the first place.

He hasn’t been to school once this week. Haruka doesn’t know why he continues actively making the decision to skip; it would be much easier to just be honest and admit he’s given up. That would at _least_ save him the trouble of setting an alarm for 6:30 every morning.

Come to think of it, he hasn’t even left his house this week—save for Makoto’s funeral—and he doesn’t intend to go anywhere in the near future. The Tachibana’s invited him to dinner countless times and told him he could stay with them for as long as he needs, but it wouldn’t feel right to him. He’d feel like an intruder, a presence that prevents the family from healing. They lost a _son,_ after all. Their pain must be worse than Haruka’s.

He clutches his stomach and takes a shaky breath. Last night’s dinner—the first full meal he’s eaten in a while—threatens to come back up, each memory of the mourning ceremony like a squeeze to his insides.

~~~

_The Tachibana’s insisted Haruka sit with them at the funeral. He does without a second thought, of course, but seeing Ren and Ran cry for their big brother and watching Mr. and Mrs. Tachibana try to hold themselves together with faces twisted in restrained grief makes him think that something is horribly, horribly wrong with him. Because as everyone around him mourns properly, Haruka merely stands there, dry-eyed and stiff, as though he doesn’t know whose funeral he’s at._

_Mrs. Tachibana takes his hand in her own, rubs it with her thumb and Haruka tries, for the sake of his own decency, to force even a single tear out._

_It never comes._

_~~~_

Haruka gets out of bed. He hasn’t showered in a week and decides that, really, enough is enough. He pads to the bathroom and doesn’t bother to turn the lights on as he peels his clothes off and runs a bath. He doesn’t bother with the temperature of the water, either, and curses as he settles into the scalding tub.

When he’s adjusted to the water he sinks below the surface, wet hair pressed flat against his head after he emerges. He goes through the motions, lathers his hair in shampoo, rinses, conditions, rinses again, until he has nothing else to do. He sits in the tub, shoulders hunched, and stares at the small dolphin bobbing up and down beside him.

He pushes a finger down on it, tries to sink it, but as soon as the weight is released it shoots back up to the surface. Then he stares at his legs under the water, distorted by the ripples, not how they appear. He notices how pruned his fingers are and wonders how long he’s been in the water.

Haruka then realizes he forgot to remove his socks before getting into the tub and decides that leaving his bed this morning was a mistake, and the bath could have waited another day.

~~~

Rei balances the casserole in one hand and knocks on the door with the other. He wonders, as he waits for the paint-chipped door to crack open, if this was a good idea. He hasn’t seen Haruka since the funeral, and even then they had barely talked. He should have brought his family along for this; better yet, he should’ve just had his mother drop this off for him.

 _No,_ Rei thinks with a curt shake of his head. _I have to do this alone._

He’s about to knock again when the door opens, slow and cautious, and Haruka peeks at Rei from behind it. His appearance is shocking; he has deep, dark circles under his eyes that contrast against pale skin and he’s swimming in a sweater that fit him perfectly fine just a month ago. Rei swallows and almost drops the casserole _._

“Haruka-senpai,” he says, too fast. “I—ah, my family and I made this casserole—for you.” He thrusts the dish in Haruka’s face and chides himself for being far too aggressive about this whole thing. His mother would’ve been much better, really. A lot less intrusive.

Haruka’s mouth parts, unreadable blue eyes flickering between the dish and Rei. The silence leaves Rei feeling painfully exposed, and his hands become increasingly clammy as the seconds tick by. Dropping the dish at Haruka’s feet and making a run for it starts to seem like a viable option.  

“You should give that to the Tachibana’s,” Haruka says at last, voice quiet as though he hasn’t spoken in days.

Rei flinches. “But—Haruka-senpai, we—I made this for you. I gave something to Makoto-senpai’s family as well, if…if that’s any consolation.”

There’s another stretch of silence. Rei shuffles his feet and Haruka ponders something that he can’t even take a guess at.

“Oh. Thank you, Rei,” he says finally, head down. Limp arms reach out to accept the dish from his hands and his fingers look thin as they grip the glassware.   

“Of course, Haruka-senpai,” Rei says, somber. The whole exchange has him feeling sick, and he’d feel even worse if he left now. There’s something weighing on him, heavy, about to crush him entirely, and he can’t keep it bottled up any longer. “Could I—I apologize for any inconvenience, really—but do you think I could come in for a moment?”

Haruka only shrugs, which is far too open ended for Rei to interpret. But when he walks back into his house without shutting the door, he takes it as a yes. Rei steps inside to take his shoes off and the first thing he notices is how dark the rooms are. There are no lights on, and even the brightest of sunrays don’t seem to peek into the house. Which, Rei realizes, is because the curtains are drawn. All of them.

Haruka has disappeared into the kitchen and Rei follows, heart pounding.

**Author's Note:**

> something i worked very hard on but won't have the motivation to ever finish, unfortunately :/ comments are always appreciated! <3


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